Rejection: A Dish Best Served Cold
by iviscrit
Summary: Crackfic. When Tom Riddle runs into an old classmate while applying for the DADA post, two types of rejection occur, and neither does much for his ego. For DemonicAngel01. Rated T for certain references, a bit of a heated situation, and Riddle's tendency to swear.


A/N: Well, DemonicAngel01, you once again have requested, and I once again deliver. Readers, enjoy some bawdy humor and crude dialogue from your humble author!

* * *

_December, 1951_

It was a completely random invitation for her to accept, Minerva had thought at first, but it had seemed the thing to do at the time. Tom Riddle had run into her -quite literally- as he stormed out of Dumbledore's office.

"Yes, excuse you," Minerva snapped when he barreled into her. "Don't watch were you're going."

"You were in my way, McGonagall," he retorted. "Made it a habit of waiting outside Dumbledore's door?"

"I ought to ask you what you were doing in there. Job interview, perhaps?" She smiled when his expression grew bitter. "Oh, I see. How did it go, then?"

"Out of my way," he growled, and pushed past her through the arching doorway. She was close behind, bent on getting an explanation out of him, and didn't notice the greenery suspended above them.

Unfortunately for her, Pomona Sprout did.

"Tom Riddle?" she gaped. "I never thought I'd see you back in Hogwarts... I always imagined I'd be reading about you in the papers," she said.

He sneered. "Perhaps there is still a chance that you will." He started to leave.

"No, not so fast, the both of you!" Pomona said, seizing both of their wrists. "Didn't you pay attention to the door you walked under?"

"Pomona, it's an archway," Minerva said sternly, "and I don't have time for this."

"It's mistletoe!" Pomona sang, as though it were Christmas Eve that very moment. "You two have to kiss!" At those words, practically every student and faculty member in the area gravitated to the hallway, which had been deserted save the three of them, moments ago.

"I'm getting out of here," Tom Riddle muttered, and made to leave.

"No, you're not!" Pomona said, and forced the two back under the arch.

"Come on, Tom, don't leave the girl waiting!" Slughorn boomed from somewhere in the crowd.

Minerva sighed in exasperation, and stood on tiptoe to press a quick peck to Tom's tightly compressed lips, shrugging and raising her arms to the raucous cheers that erupted. "Don't you all have to go to class?" she snapped when the din didn't die down. Gradually the hallway grew less congested, and once she was certain that all the students were off to class she walked past Tom without a second glance. It was surprise then, when he seized her wrist. "Oh, come off it," she scoffed. "You can't possibly be upset about a bit of fun."

Riddle smirked at her, and before she had time to think he had pulled her aside, kissing her deeply. "Had your 'bit of fun' now?" he said, voice low.

"Apparently, and a bit of unwarranted 'fun' as well." She quirked a brow. "How dare you presume that I'd be willing."

He kissed her again, chuckling when she pulled away. "I _know_ that I assume correctly."

"Isn't there some sort of socially acceptable way to proposition someone before sexually harassing her?" Minerva said, assuming a stern expression.

"Minerva," Riddle laughed softly. "Were you always this uptight?"

"On first name terms now, are we?"

"You certainly seemed to think so, moments ago." He smirked again.

"Well,_ Riddle,_ we can go back to things as they were."

"Is that really what you want?" he pressed, taking her hand.

"Yes-" she began, stopping when he brought her fingers to his lips. "-but things could be subject to change."

"'Change' assuming I conform to societal norms and proposition you in a civilized manner?"

"Precisely."

He smiled disarmingly, a smile that would have brought a flush to any woman's cheeks. "Minerva," he said, "would you care to join me for dinner tonight?"

Minerva's color remained unchanged. "No, I would not."

"What?" The word was a staccato, she noticed with a smile. Clearly, he wasn't accustomed to rejection.

"I can't join you for dinner tonight," she continued, "because I'm busy with teacher duties. I might, however, join you tomorrow if you'll have me."

He grinned wolfishly. "Oh, I intend to."

"You know, now that I think on it I won't be able to make it," Minerva said. "But perhaps another night?"

"Only if you're certain you can," he said. "Perhaps you'd better pick the night."

"Of course," she said. "Perhaps the thirty-second of December." She shifted, lifting his hand from where it rested at her waist and dropping it distastefully. "Is that convenient for you?"

"Perfectly," he said, disgusted. "Very subtle, aren't you?"

"Well," she said, her composure unchanged and his question brushed aside as if it were of no consequence, "good afternoon, Riddle."

FINIS

[not really]

ALTERNATE ENDING:

"Minerva," he said, "would you care to join me for dinner tonight?"

Minerva's color remained unchanged. "No, I would not."

"What?" The word was a staccato, she noticed with a smile. Clearly, he wasn't accustomed to rejection.

"I can't join you for dinner tonight," she continued, "because I'm busy with teacher duties. I might, however, join you tomorrow if you'll have me."

He grinned wolfishly. "Oh, I intend to. What time shall I come for you?"

She turned and started off down the hall. "I'll be at the gates at nine. Afternoon, Riddle," she said, a pointed businesslike edge to her voice.

"Afternoon, Minerva."

o0o

"What a romantic location," she observed dryly.

"I'm sorry it's not to your liking," he retorted. "I didn't think you would be the flowers and candlelight sort of woman."

"I'm not."

"Then stop complaining." He glanced around the dimly lit restaurant. "I'm quite fond of this place, personally," he said.

"Why are you staying here, and not at the Hog's Head?" Minerva asked. "It's a bit far."

His expression darkened. "For reasons that are irrelevant as of now." He sipped his wine. "The food is decidedly superior, if we're going by trivial reasons, of course."

"So tell me, Tom," Minerva said, trying for a change of subject, "what position were you applying for?"

"As if you don't know."

"Defense against the Dark arts?" she prodded. "Dumbledore and I talked about you last night, actually."

"Bringing up another man during alone time with Albus?" he said casually. "Not a very good idea-"

"On _patrol_. We talked about you last night _on patrol_."

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "I see. And what did he say?"

"That's not relevant right now," she said, voice patronizing, "but I now have reason to think all the other men in this restaurant are not regular patrons, and are in fact your 'Death Eaters' as Albus calls them."

"Oh, Minerva," he sighed, caressing her face with a finger, "you don't want to ruin our dinner by bringing up something like that."

"Why don't we..." She inched forward in her seat, arresting his hand with hers, "...discuss this more privately."

"My room is upstairs-" he began, pushing his chair back. The black-clad men took a moment to titter at their eager young dark lord.

"No need, Tom, I meant cast a spell." She smirked as he muttered 'muffliato' and turned his attention back to her. "Now," she said, leaning back again, "where were we?"

"We were changing the subject."

"Maybe _you_ were, but I wasn't," Minerva said. "Albus said the primary reason for his refusal to hire you was your ties to these men. Who are they, if not friends?"

"They are men who share my views, and in the same line of work as me," he said. "And on Fridays we meet to discuss the intricacies of _Invisible Man._"

"You have a book club?" Minerva stared.

Riddle smiled. "Is that so surprising? We also play gin."

"You never fail to shock me, it seems," she said. "Dessert?"

"Not at the moment."

"Good, me neither," she said, pushing her plate aside. "Separate, please," she told their server, ignoring Riddle's protest.

"Fiercely independent, I notice," he said, pulling back her chair. "Shall I take you back to Hogwarts, or will you at least favor me with your company for a little longer?"

"I'll humor you," Minerva said, taking his arm. "Where to?"

"There's a balcony upstairs with the most beautiful view," Riddle said. "Not counting the view right in front of me, of course."

"Stop," she said, rolling her eyes. "Really, I'm right beside you, and you can't take your eyes off Dolohov."

Riddle's face soured. "Must you undercut everything I say?"

"If you're going to be nauseatingly charming, yes."

"Isn't this what you women want though?" he persisted, pulling her to him, noses brushing. "Don't you want something romantic?"

"I'm not that type," she said. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Perfect," he said, closing the gap and smiling when she didn't pull away, instead hooking her leg around his and pressing closer. "Neither am I."

The balcony was conveniently located, as it was but a brief walk from his room. An intimate meeting of the eyes and a few strategic insults from Minerva brought them to his door, and in moments he had dissolved before her eyes through the door, opening it in seconds from within and pulling her through. It wasn't long before one thing led to another and she was on his lap, hips aligned and her face to his, kissing him with an enthusiasm that matched his own. Riddle pulled back from her, one hand still cupping her face while the other stopped at her thigh. "Did you cast the contraception spell?" he said, breathless.

Minerva stiffened. "What?"

"The contraception spell," he repeated, eyebrows raised. "If you don't mind risking it tonight-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa _what?_" Minerva demanded, furiously adjusting her dress and getting off him.

"I assumed-"

"You assumed _wrong_, Tom Riddle!" she snapped, livid. "I can't _believe_ you- _ugh._ You are such a pig."

Riddle stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"Are we married?"

"No.."

"Are we engaged?"

"God, no..."

"Are we in an established relationship?"

"Um, I'm not certain of the 'status' of it, but-"

"Then why the hell would I want to sleep with you?" she said. "I'm not one of the other loose women you've dated, Tom."

Riddle stared. "So..."

"I've heard about enough from you," Minerva said dismissively. "See you around, asshole." She stormed out the door.

Riddle fumed silently, straightening his clothes and leaving the room, incensed. The next sight that greeted him was little comfort; his own Death Eaters were gathered outside his room, still looking after Minerva.

"_REJECTION!_"

Riddle scowled darkly. "Enough."

"I suppose she _wasn't_ in the mood for dessert," Dolohov quipped. "Oddly enough she didn't want anything warm for a cold December night."

"Well, 'rejection is a dish best served cold,'" Malfoy pointed out merrily. "Isn't it, my Lord?"

"Shut up."

"Never thought I'd get to witness a date blow up in his face like that!" Dolohov said, full of glee. "Guess McGonagall hasn't changed much since Hogwarts, has she?"

"ENOUGH!" Riddle snapped. "Three things: first, you are never to speak of this again. The consequences will be dire if you do. Second, don't talk to me. And finally," he said, violently casting a stunning spell in an arc that slammed several of the men backwards, "it's _revenge_ is a dish that's best served cold, not _rejection_! We read _Les Liasons Dangereuses_ just last _month_!" He stormed away.

"Does that include-"

"Yes! Now go f*ck off and leave me alone!"

Dolohov sniggered once out of earshot. "Bit ironic, that."

FINIS

**A/N: HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA I hope you loved it, DemonicAngel01. Allllll for you. **

**A couple of things make me wonder, though. Why were the Death Eaters even present during his date? And how did Voldemort lose himself like that? Ah, but these are questions for a non-crackfic, are they not? Do leave me a review; I don't want to deal with rejection like Voldemort. ;)**


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